


Shifting Slightly Off Kilter

by annieke



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 09:39:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3376790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annieke/pseuds/annieke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some days make no sense.</p><p>Not in a blatant 'what the hell just happened here' way, no, but more like 'the Earth's axis has minutely slipped, somehow, and shifted everything just slightly off kilter' way.</p><p>Steve's been feeling this for a while--about his own life, and about how he feels about Danny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A while ago, I wrote a little fic of Danny's thoughts while he was in bed watching Steve sleep (yes, total fic trope, but whatever—it's _Just the Thing,_ if you're at all interested), and in that fic I mention Danny's neighbor (OC) Mrs. Yukimoto, who brings him home cooking and calls him Danny-chan.
> 
> That OC and Danny's various absences from this season prompted this fic.
> 
> Hope you enjoy :)

The world spins. We stumble on. It is enough. -- Colum McCann

 

Some days make no sense.

Not in a blatant 'what the hell just happened here' way, no, but more like 'the Earth's axis has minutely slipped, somehow, and shifted everything just slightly off kilter' way.

"Book 'em, Danno."

"Really.”

"Oh, sorry," Steve amends his words at Kono's flat tone and thinks yeah. great. gonna be one of _those_ days. "I meant book 'em, Kono."

"Sure," she replies and none-too-gently herds their perp off to the process while sending him her raised-eyebrow look.

"Steve? You okay?"

"Yeah, Chin. Fine." Which, okay. He looks around just to double check because, huh. Forgot. No Danny.

Completely off kilter.

**

Friday morning, and Danny's car is here. Here, at work, in its spot. Steve can't help but stare at it for a few seconds. What the hell?

They always ride in together. Or, usually ride in together. Mostly. Okay, not every day, sure, but a lot of the time, anyway, and when he hadn't heard from Danny this morning, he'd just assumed Danny'd had something else to do before work because Danny always—always—calls about driving in together. It's their thing.

Or most of the time is their thing. Yes, there were those months when Catherine was around, when she was on the team, and maybe sometimes he and Danny wouldn't drive in together, that's true—but Catherine's gone now. Has been gone for a while, and Danny _should've_ called him this morning.

It irritates him a little that Danny didn't call, though. That he's already here. Here early. Without a word, text, email. Nothing, and he isn't even for a second going to acknowledge that sudden sharp pang of unease that twists through him.

He enters the break room to find Grover and Danny standing head-to-head, and okay, Grover is leaning down quite a bit to be head-to-head with Danny, but still. They're chuckling. Laughing.

Damn, if that doesn't have him immediately feeling a little rocked—more than just a little, if he’s honest. He's actually feeling a faint measure of, of….

No. Absurd. He's just having a bad morning, that's all. Didn't sleep well then missed his workout, and that always leaves him feeling irritated. Off-center. Off-kilter.

"Hey," he says, brushing off whatever issue it is his brain is having. He's not jealous of Grover, for shit's sake. Jeeze. That would be ridiculous for a whole host of reasons. Smiles and tries hard not to give free rein to the questioning look he's sure is already written all over his face about just why Danny didn't call him for a ride this morning. "What's up?" Casual, he can do casual.

"Ah," Grover says and points to Danny who's looking not just a little off-kilter himself if Steve's reading that expression correctly which he thinks he is and what the hell? What's prompting that sort of expression to be directed toward _him_? "Danny's just been giving me some pointers on a few of the local dishes."

Grover points. There are malasadas piled on a plate on the table.

"Pointers on what to inhale, you mean," Steve says with a laugh. "And what to avoid." He's grinning a little because, yeah. Danny and food. Been here so many times. Danny has always had a lot to say on the subject of food, even after all these years. "I'm sure he gave you quite the diatribe on what does and does not belong on pizza, right?"

"Nope." Danny says and he's sending Grover some sort of knowing grin and Steve feels another slight twist of what is so not a jealous pang. "Grover's from Chicago. The man knows his pizza, trust me." Danny then raps his knuckles on the desk, shoves two malasadas into a napkin and heads off to his office with that one particular Danny-smile that says he has the answers and everyone else is fucking clueless.

That smile confuses Steve.

"Huli-huli chicken, actually," Grover tells him. "Gave me his recipe 'cause I brought him malasadas. I'm cooking that chicken this weekend for the fam." Then he launches into the bank account background of one of their suspects or something. Who the hell knows?

Steve stopped listening paragraphs ago because seriously, how does Danny have a recipe for Huli-huli chicken?

**

Thursday, Steve's breakfast meeting with the Governor runs over into a lunch meeting and then even longer, and by the time he gets free and clear it's after six.

His head is pounding horribly.

Checks phone messages. Two from Chin about their latest case, the first to say they've narrowed their suspect pool down to three, the second to say they're all leaving and will see him in the morning.

There's nothing from anyone else.

** 

It's been fairly amusing over the past months to see Grover try and fold himself into their various vehicles, so having the big man ride next to him in his truck where he's able to stretch out those long legs, the man's relief is almost palpable.

They're on their way to question yet another of their suspect's ex-boyfriends. Steve doubts they'll get much info.

"You think this guy's been helping his old boyfriend cover his tracks?" Grover asks him and yeah, Steve thinks. Possibly.

"Maybe. Hard to tell, but you never know. Seems to have a sudden interest in all his old boyfriend's accounts. Chin pulled the phone records; these guys have spoken more times in the last several weeks than the past several months combined. For exes, sure seems like a lot."

"Yeah, well. Maybe they're just trying to rekindle their relationship or something. Like you and Catherine there for a while.”

“Uh, what?”

Grover waves him off. “Oh, you know what I mean. Maybe they’re talking because they want to get together again. That happens. Hell, the ex-boyfriend is pretty stinkin' good looking, isn't he?" Some weird _whoof_ sound then comes out of Grover, and Steve snaps his head to look at him. "What? Just 'cause I'm in love with my wife doesn't mean I don't know a handsome package when I see it."

"Package?" 

"Oh, hell, McGarrett. You know, the whole thing. Face, body. All that." Grover's got that hand now roving up and down while also looking at something on his phone and doesn't seem to miss a beat when he then adds, "Like you. Package."

A noise rises out of Steve faster than he can even begin to suppress. He looks over to find Grover flat out staring at him. "What?"

"Sounds like you're choking on something. I don't need to be doing emergency first-aid of the side of the road. It's too early in the morning for that."

"I—I'm not choking on anything." Except he very much is--on a lot of things.

Now Grover's laughing. "Sure sounded like a choking noise to me."

"No choke. Just, I wasn't expecting you to be pointing out how good-looking some guy's package looks." Never mind the comment about him and Catherine. 

"Did I say package? I never said package, I said _whole_ package. There's a difference, you know. Kind of a big difference, actually." A beat, and then Grover comes up with this little gem: "Have to say, if I didn't know better, I'd be thinking you're showing a side of homophob—"

"Okay, stop. No, and don't even. I was just surprised, that's all."

"What, surprised that I know a good-looking man when I see one? Or surprised that I said you were good looking, which, McGarrett, come on, you look in the mirror every damn day. Besides, not like I’m throwing out a line here. My wife is too beautiful and perfect for me to ever want to dive into the other pool. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, to quote a _Seinfeld_ classic."

Steve doesn’t even know what to say to this, less when Grover then finishes with, "Man, I swear, between you and Rollins and you and Williams, the four of you—"

"Four?"

"…are a piece of work."

"What? What does that even mean?"

Grover's still laughing. "Nothin'. Calm down. Just means I've never worked with so many good-looking people."

"Yeah, all four of us," Steve mutters.

He wants to ask what the hell Grover means by the line comment, what the hell he means about him and Catherine, him and Danny, but at this point figures the less said the better. He’s feeling confused enough as it is, and oh, god, he can feel it already spiraling in—a headache is imminent.

"Four of you," Grover repeats with a chuckle. "More like just a half with Williams—and don't be going and getting all defensive on his behalf. You know I'm just joking." 

Grover's still chuckling lightly, still thumbing through something on his phone or playing a game, maybe. Steve doesn’t really know what the hell he's doing, his thoughts are getting all tied up and crossed together. Him and Danny. Danny and him. "What _four_ of us?"

There's a pause, then Grover says, "Oh, you and Williams and you and Catherine, like I said. You're just different with him than you ever were with her, that's all I meant. So, four, you know? I was just being my funny self, don't get all put out now."

"I'm not put out." But damn, is it so apparent how he feels when he's around Danny? 

"Man does have some ass on him, though, doesn’t he? Williams?" Grover makes some sort of little humming noise and, Jesus, Steve almost drives them off the road. 

Again, Grover's still reading through whatever he's looking for on his phone, his comment about Danny's ass tossed away casually and clearly instantly forgotten, and yet Steve is sitting next to him completely and utterly frozen. What the hell? Danny's ass?

They ride along in quiet for a bit, for which Steve is hugely grateful. Danny's ass is pretty much hovering between them—or over _him_ , anyway, and it’s not like he doesn’t already have the shape and curve of that ass committed to memory—and no, damn it. No. 

Steve's thoughts are definitely not dwelling on Danny's ass or the fact that Grover found it necessary to point out said ass—how weird was that, anyway--and so redirects his brain waves back to the suspect at hand because at this point, he needs to throw himself into work. Right now.

"Okay, so—I think we need to dive a little deeper into this ex-boyfriend's background."

"Probably not a bad idea," Grover agrees, "especially his financials. Bet they make a pretty picture."

Steve nods. This, he can handle. Work, he can handle. This is good. "You know what? We oughta get a look at some of those files before we see him, maybe we can get—"

“Right, on it,” Grover says, cutting him off. “I'll call Kono."

"Yeah, and I'll tell Danny to head over to—"

"You mean Chin."

"Chin?"

"Danny's not around, remember? Coming in later or something."

"Oh, right." Steve nods, but what the hell? How did he not know this? "Call Kono."

**

Later apparently means almost three o’clock. 

Danny walks into the offices, or more like struts in, looking cocky and self-assured and full of himself and that pretty much sums up exactly everything about Danny that lures Steve right on in. He can’t help it. Since the day they met, he’s felt the force of the gravitational pull of one Danny Williams. It draws him in every time.

Glances at his watch as Danny walks in. They’re all gathered around the smart table, the suspect’s financial records on display on the screen. The meeting with the man's ex-boyfriend had been a no-go; the guy had bailed before he and Grover even got to his office.

“Howzit, Danny?” Chin asks while sending new files up for viewing.

Kono gives Danny a small hip-check. “Good lunch?”

Lunch? Danny was away all day because of a lunch?

"Yeah, not too bad." Danny's moved next to him at the table then points to the screen. "What are we looking at, this from the shared account?"

"Yep," Kono says. "Looks like a large sum was deposited three weeks ago, and…."

Steve has no idea what else was said. All he can think about is Danny and lunch and where was he and how did he not know about it? What the hell is going on around here?

**

So Joe shows up and suddenly Danny disappears. Not unexpected. Steve knows Danny holds a lot of animosity for Joe, and rightly so.

Not that he has time to deal with any of it during the insanity of it all. Fucking bird flu.

He'd called Chin without even an attempt to call Danny after the wrecking ball incident, knowing exactly how pissed off Danny would be in finding out it happened. Danny's taken to calling Joe the harbinger of doom. Great.

So when Danny came storming through Tripler—like a wrecking ball, Steve thinks now with a half laugh—he wasn’t at all surprised to find Danny was pissed off and exuding anger when he found them.

And concern. Definitely concern. Worry. He likes to think it had been a tear or two of relief that he'd thought he'd seen Danny turn away to wipe away.

It was nice to know Danny's still concerned for him, though. It does good things to his insides.

**

It's late, he's half drunk, and he was going to call him, Danny, but now he's not. He's not. Just, he doesn't feel much like hanging by himself at his place right now.

Joe's disappeared again, probably off with Doris somewhere. That would figure.

He ought to be worried that he's finding that funny. It shouldn't be funny. Danny wouldn't find it funny. Not any of it. Not Joe, not Doris. Especially not Doris. Doris has never been funny in the least. Ever.

His head aches. He should really get some rest and for sure does not need another drink. That wouldn't be helpful. No, not helpful at all. Just, he'd like to not think for a while. Not think about anything. Not his life. Not Danny's.

Danny. Danny is probably with Amber. Yeah. He doesn't want to think about Amber. Or Danny. Or them. Neither or both or none of them. 

No, doesn't really want to think about Danny with Amber. Not a thought he loves, the two of them together, not that he needs to examine that any deeper than knowing he just doesn’t want to know if they're together. Right now together. Ever, together.

God, he needs to clear his head. His thoughts are rambling around with everything circling back to Danny. Grover's comments keep swirling around in his brain, too. Him and Danny. Danny and him. all four of them. Two of them.

Thing is, it's like—and he would never admit this out loud to anyone ever—but, in a way he kind of feels like Danny is his. Has always been his. His like… _his_. No one else's. Just his.

Weird, he knows, not to mention unfounded and wouldn't Danny have just a shit-ton to say about it all. He can practically hear him now and besides, not like _he_ has any say over who it is Danny can be with or not. Now now.

That ship has finally sailed away—far, far away. There've been a few openings over the past years, openings wherein he was pretty sure Danny was feeling the same pull, attraction, sexual tension—Lord, there's sexual tension between them—and they'd come close some of those times. So, so close to reaching for one another—and then…and then….

Yeah, and then they didn't. He'd backed up. Run away. Pushed Danny away and toward whoever was closest at hand.

Rachel. Then Gabby. Now Amber.

And he'd had Catherine. That's what he keeps telling himself, that he's now just feeling so lonely because Catherine chose not to come back.

Thing is, though, if he's honest with himself, it was more a blow to his ego than any sort of deep emotional tear. He misses her and all, but emotionally wounded? Not so much.

He was never lying with his pronouncements over the years that she was not his girlfriend. Losing her makes him sad because they've been friends for twenty years and he misses that ease of comfort and familiarity. The free and easy sex wasn't bad, either—and when she'd pushed for more between them, a relationship, he tried. He did. Tried for them both. Tried hard.

Just, that's not what he wanted—wants. She isn't who he wants. Not then. Not now.

Let it go. He needs to let it go. Needs to just be happy on his couch by himself with a beer in hand flipping though channels on TV.

Gotta be some crap-ass movie playing that he can get lost in for the night.

**

A month later and things aren't any better between him and Danny. Not any worse, either, he guesses, but it's not great. Danny seems more distant or something. 

He's getting a refill on his after lunch coffee when he hears Grover say, "I smell…McDonald's."

Kono replies to Grover's question with, "French fries," and she's pointing to Danny who shoots her with a finger gun as he walks through the office after returning from what Steve has assumed was some doctor's check up appointment or something for Grace.

Danny's been gone most of the day. Had said he'd needed the time off. 

Time off again.

**

"Steve! What's going on over there?"

"What's going on? What's going on?"

It's hot as hell, people are screaming, bullets are flying and it's pretty much been a chaotic situation since his morning started and now, right now, right the fuck now, the whole current catastrophic crisis at hand is crashing into the proverbial shitter…

"And that," Steve yells into the phone and yes he knows he sounds just a little bit over-fried here, "is what's going on!"

Looks at his phone for a split second as he ducks even lower behind the truck he's crouched behind. Just how much reserve ammo do these guys have? "Where the hell are you?"

"We're on the way; SWAT and HPD'll be on scene first."

On the way, he thinks and lets that roll through his head over and over as he dumps one clip to slam home another. On the way. On the way.

A bullet whizzes just over his head while another tears a chunk out of a store's awning that's directly in front of him, and it's not hard to flinch against the heavy plinks and plunks of sound as bullets slam into the metal of the truck he's using for cover, which is pretty much getting decimated.

It's turning into World War Three out here, for shit's sake, which is just insane—and Joe's not even around this time, he thinks.

He'd been headed to work, almost there when he'd had a thought and suddenly veered off course, deciding to pick up some malasadas to bring in for everybody. 

Okay, bring for Danny mainly, he'll admit to himself. Deep down, he's still…besotted. Knows this even if they haven't ever moved anywhere past being close friends.

Just, lately it's felt like something is off. Isn't quite clicking or _they_ aren't clicking. 

Definitely he and Danny aren't traveling on the same wavelength these days; they've been bickering, arguing over stupid stuff, not like that's really any different. SNAFU, pretty much the way it always is between them. Only, it just feels kind of wrong lately.

He's not even sure what the hell is wrong, but something doesn't feel right anymore, and it's a feeling he can't seem to shake. Danny just seems like he's always off doing something else, and seems overly irritable when he is around.

So, whatever it is, he'd come to the conclusion this morning that, well…malasadas. Danny loves them. 

Or would have, because now…now, the things are rolling around all over the sidewalk. Pretty sure one of 'em is squashed like mealy glue under his shoe.

He'd parked off Lanakila Avenue so he could walk the last few blocks to the bakery—just to walk a few lengths, help stretch out his calf as he'd felt it tightening up a bit after his run this morning—and had picked up the donuts and was heading back to his truck when all hell broke loose.

Out of nowhere there was rapid gun fire, bullets flying, people screaming—and of course the streets were full as folks were heading into work, heading to the nearby medical center, entering and exiting restaurants and coffee shops.

He picks his head up at a sort of lull. Still isn't sure what or who the shooters are gunning for, and while the thought crosses his mind that _he_ could actually be the target, that's fairly improbable. This time. 

His watch reads too much time has passed since chaos began, and he's mentally counting off the seconds as they pass thinking his team and HPD should be showing up just about…

Now. Sirens are wailing and tires squealing as 'back up' and all that entails races to the scene, and then he can hear HPD barking out orders, officers and SWAT racing into position—and all the while bullets are still flying around.

For himself, he's on the move, ducking and running, having already pinpointed just where the shooters are—he's sure there are more than two people involved—rushing himself there just in time to see SWAT take them down under an HPD cover and he backs off a bit, gun still in hand and ready to move just in case until…

"Steve!"

Grover. He turns to find the big man rolling out of Chin's car, Chin and Kono running in after.

"You good?" Chin calls out.

"Yeah. Good."

"You sure, Boss?" Kono's nodding toward him, eyes cast downward and he follows her sightline to…blood.

Of course that's when a searing pain shoots through the back of his calf, and it's not his sore muscle that's hurting. There's a tear in his pants that's soaking wet; how did he miss this? Rips the fabric open to find a deep furrow welling with blood.

"Ooh," Grover says, squatting down and peering at the sound. "That there is some kinda ugly."

"Definitely not pretty," Chin adds, and then they're all kind of staring at his wound and really, Steve thinks, could we all just get back to business with the current situation at hand?

Kono makes some soft sympathetic hissing sound between her teeth and says, "Bet it hurts a lot," and it didn't-hadn't-wasn't hurting until Kono pointed that out and now he winces from the bite of it.

"Don't we all have some better things to do here than look at my little cut?" He sends them all a pointed look and is about to head them all over toward where HPD is rounding up several men—the shooters, he's sure—when…

"Excuse me," a woman coming toward him says. She's wearing scrubs and it's pretty obvious that some staff from the medical center nearby have made their way over to the area to see if they can lend a hand. She has a small bag with her and points toward his leg and, really, he doesn't want to deal with this right now. "May I take a look at that?"

Debates for a split second, then nods and stumbles over to a bench to sit if only because it really does hurt and he wouldn’t mind getting some weight off for a minute or two. His team has now all stopped as well, watching him for a minute and he appreciates the concern but shoos them off to go get answers. 

"Chin," he yells out, the thought that something not quite right only now occurring to him. "Hold up a sec."

"Yeah?" 

The nurse is wiping his wound with some pad that's soaked with something—his eyes are watering from the sting, goddamn—and he half hears her say to him, "This needs to be sewn up. I’m getting an ambulance to come get you."

Gives her a quick wave-off and tells her, "No, really. I'm fine," then turns back to Chin. "Where's Danny?" because it suddenly occurs to him that he hasn't yet heard Danny's accusatory, 'what have you done now?' tone.

"No. Sir," he then hears the nurse say. "You're really not fine." The nurse points to the wound. "That—is not fine."

He glances back to her, then the wound. He can deal with this later. For now, he wants to go talk to the SWAT guys, and starts to stand with a tossed out, "I think it's good," directed at her before he redirects his attention back to Chin who's looking at him not just a little bemused.

The nurse pulls him back down. "It's not good."

"It's fine. Trust me, I've had worse."

Chin is now all but laughing out loud. It's annoying and he diverts back to asking, "Danny over there with HPD?" because it's bothering him a bit, a little bit, that Danny hasn't come to check on him. He's been shot, and Danny's always there with some comment or two when he's been shot.

Tries again to stand, but a hand on his shoulder presses him back down at the same time Chin starts to say, "Danny? Danny's—"

"What?"

"Sir. You need stitches," the nurse says again, interrupting, and she sounds…not so nice. Frankly, she sounds a little pushy.

Steve slowly turns to look at her. "Seriously, you can just slap a butterfly on it, it'll be fine, okay?" Looks back up at Chin. "What was that about Danny?"

"Steve, you have to—"

"Well, I might slap you," she interrupts again, "if you don't get this stitched up." She's got a firm grip around his knee and squeezes. hard.

"Excuse me?" He's looking flat out at her now. What the hell? What did she say?

"Look," she says. "A buttefly just isn't going to work here. Trust me." She's packing up her bag. "I will say, though, Mr. McGarrett, that—"

"It's Commander, actually." Okay, yes, uncalled for, and he feels a pang of regret from hearing his own tone the minute it comes out and knows his feathers are a bit over-ruffled…but where is Danny?

"Oh, I know who you are." She says with a not so warm smile and a brush to her knees as she stands and stares down at him. "Might I suggest that if you're not inclined to be felled by severe infection, and don't cherish the idea of a massive scar or possible hospital stay, you and your malasada get over to the medical center and get that thing cleaned out and stitched up."

He's being an ass and he knows it. "Okay." Holds out a hand with no small measure of chagrin. "Sorry, I'm…I'll get it looked at and thank you, nurse—"

"It's doctor, actually." She glances around and heads off, calling back, "And you're welcome."

"What the hell is going on?"

Danny, and he's…well, ranting at the moment. "Making friends everywhere you go, as usual. Jesus, Steve. What the—please tell me you didn't have anything to do with all this?"

Steve can't stop staring at him, Danny, because Danny, he's wearing…what is he wearing? "Where've you been?" Giving him the once over…and over again, because…

"Chin?" Danny asks, ignoring him and turning away to stare at Chin who now looks suspiciously close to absolutely busting a gut. How is this funny?

"No, Danny," Chin says. "No. Steve didn't start any of this—at least, not that I know of." And they both turn to look at him as if expecting him to suddenly admit that yeah, he's the cause for all the chaos.

"I didn't start this! I didn't start anything," he protests and really, how the hell is that a natural assumption? How is no one caring that Danny is standing there looking like…that? 

"Well, that is good to know." Danny turns, points to Steve. "You. Are you okay?" and Danny's pointedly looking at the blood stained pad taped over the graze on his leg, scrutinizing everything and looking just so not happy.

Steve nods. "I'm okay—but Danny. What the hell are—"

"You're okay. Of course you're okay. Great. Good. _Okay_ ," Danny says with a clap of his hands, turning again to point to Chin and clearly ignoring anything Steve's about to ask which Steve has to admit is leaving him feeling not a little bewildered. Then Danny starts heading away, still talking to Chin. "Let me know if he's not fine, will you? I gotta get back."

"Danny! Wait, I need—" He's up and about to trail after him when Chin grabs him by the arm.

Danny's turned around now, calling back before continuing on his way which is not the way toward where HPD is processing the scene. "What you need is to get that looked at—and that malasada off your butt."

"What?"

"Steve. Let him go. You don't want to make this worse."

Steve's just sitting there, dumbfounded and not a little bit angry now, and he turns to Chin to say, "What do you mean? Make _what_ worse?" because he's thinking maybe _worse_ is not at all about his being shot in the leg.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So initially, I was going for just fun, Danny taking a side job.  
> Then Steve jumped in and got all moody and half drunk and deep, and it all got kind of sap heavy. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed :)

"It isn't want you think, you know," Chin's telling him as he sits on an examination bed in the ER. They've just finished stitching up his wound. Grover's right. It's really ugly.

"No, I don't know." Stares up at Chin and he knows he's frowning, but it's hard not to at this point. Nothing makes sense and he's getting frustrated as hell. "I'm not thinking anything because I don't know anything, apparently." 

Chin has his head cocked, his expression very telling in that there is definitely something, and Steve knows he'll be straight with him about this, whatever this is that's going on with Danny.

"First," Chin starts and already there's that calming tone that's saying Steve's apparently been very slow on some uptake. "You have noticed Danny's absences from time to time, right?" Shifts out of the way as Steve moves to pull his pants up.

"What do you mean?" The wound hurts but it's not intolerable. Stuffs the prescription for antibiotics in his pocket and pretty much writes off the one for heavy-duty painkillers. He'll just slam a few extra ibuprofen to take the edge off before he goes to sleep. 

"What do you mean, what do I mean?" 

Steve swallows a sigh of exasperation. "I mean, what do you mean Danny's absences?"

Now he's getting a gaping Chin. "McGarrett. You aren't serious? That question was fairly rhetorical."

The frustration is building; his gut is twisting. "I'm—well, I know Danny's asked for some time off now and again, but I don't think I'd group them into a collective."

"Steve."

"What? Okay, yes. Danny's been out from time to time, I get that. Of course, I know that, he's my partner, not like I don't notice when he's not there. I pay attention."

"Really?" Chin's expression isn't smug; he's looking at him with, what is that…pity?

"What the hell, Chin? What's going on that I don’t know?"

Chin cuts him off and takes a step back, like he doesn't want to get involved. "You know what? Maybe should just talk to Danny about this. All of this."

"Talk to Danny." That's exactly what he needs to do, talk to Danny.

**

Thing is, when he thinks about it, he does know what Chin means. There have been extra leave days and late arrivals over the past several months, sure. 

In the back of his mind, Steve does know he's usually very aware when Danny's not around. Feels it. Feels it deeply, actually, more than he'd like to think on or admit.

Thing is, it's not really his fault for not being so readily observant; he's been a bit distracted, for shit's sake. Maybe he hasn't noticed everything with everybody over the past several months, but goddamn, he's gone through a fuck-ton of hell, frankly, and so yeah, maybe not being so quick on what's going on around him hasn't been as important as trying to keep his head screwed on and pointing the right direction.

Not like Danny's just disappeared or anything. Not really. He's just taken time off now and again, right? That's all. More off than not lately, maybe, but still—just days here and there, or half days. Couple hours here and there. No big deal.

Thing is, though, on those days Steve's needed him—really needed him, and he doesn't want to dwell too deep on any of those horrific days—Danny was there. There by his side, always. Even flying across the world to be there with him. Danny's always been there when he's needed him to be. Always.

Jesus, it's just never occurred to him to think that all this time off that Danny's taken means there might be something wrong with _Danny_. Has he missed this? His heart is suddenly telling him so.

God, has he really not been paying attention?  
Which instantly reminds him of Danny's claustrophobia and Danny's saying, 'maybe you don't pay so much attention to me'. 

That was…not weeks ago. Months ago. Said when Catherine was on the team and practically living with him and yeah. Maybe then he really wasn't paying so much attention to Danny, and that's maybe around the time that Danny was starting to not be around so much, either.

The thought that he and Danny have drifted apart without him even realizing makes him ill and uneasy, never mind if Danny's really sick or something; he can hardly stand the thought of that, because even given their push and pull over so many, many things, he knows for sure that Danny's more important to him now than he's ever been.

Kills him to think Danny might not think the same.

That hollow ache and numb feeling he'd once thought had been left by Catherine's choosing not to come back, well, maybe it's even more due to Danny than he'd thought. Maybe it's been Danny he's been missing, and he hasn't even realized.

He follows Chin outside, confused and uncertain. And hurting, frankly. They've given him a cane to help take weight off his leg. Maybe he can use it to beat some sense into his own head.

"You okay, Steve?" Chin gives him a long look.

"I honestly don't know what I am right now."

Chin's giving him a long look, then shakes his head and hands him a piece of paper. "Look, if you can walk the few blocks—here."

"What's this?" It's an address than rings fairly familiar, but Steve's not sure. Not sure of anything, really.

"Answers," Chins says then heads off the other way. "Looks like everything out here is under control. I'll let you know if there's anything HPD needs. Otherwise, hope to not see you or your leg in the office anytime soon. Take a day or two at least, okay? Call me if you need anything."

"Answers," Steve repeats, calling out. "That's not at all cryptic, is it?"

Chin just sends him a wave and is off.

**

Limping the several blocks hasn't done his leg much good, even with the aid of the walking cane. Maybe not taking those painkillers was a mistake.

God, he's getting soft. Five years ago an injury like this wouldn't have slowed him a second. 

He's getting old. Old and…alone, and oh, Christ. Sure doesn't want to think on that, pull it together, McGarrett.

It's just about lunchtime and the place Chin sends him to is fairly busy with several tables of diners. No one would ever guess there'd been the chaos of the shooting earlier. 

Steve lets the door close behind him and just stands there letting his eyes adjust to the change in light.

It's a restaurant, a few blocks from the medical clinic. He doesn't know what to think. Is Danny meeting him here? Looks around but doesn't see him.

"You want a table for one?"

A tiny woman is leaning over grabbing a menu, then turns and smiles up at him, eyes brightening as she clearly gains recognition. "Ah, McGarrett-san! You finally come in to my place!"

Mrs. Yukimoto. Danny's next-door neighbor. He knew she owned a restaurant, just had never been there. Until now, apparently. "Hi, Mrs. Yukimoto." Gives her a big smile. "I'm, ah, here to meet Detective Williams. I think."

Mrs. Yukimoto has had a fondness for Danny since he moved into his house. She's his neighbor, and Steve knows she brings him food all the time. Danny's always said she's an amazing cook.

"You an' everybody else," she says, then winks.

What?

She's already walking away, though. "You hold on a few minutes, lemme get you a good table." 

Turns back as he calls out after her. "Wait." None of this makes sense. "What does that mean?"

"What you think it means? Means I'll get you a good table."

"No, I mean, what does 'me and everybody else' mean?"

"Oh," she says, laughing. "People ask for him. My Daniel-san brings 'em in every time." and she's then beckoning him to sit at one of the small booths for two. 

Ask for him?

She sets a steaming mug of green tea in front of him. "You drink this, you look pale. You hungry? You get ahi poke today. It's really fresh."

He's not hungry. He's not sure what he is, but nods anyway. "Yeah, okay. Sure." Takes a drink of water and what—why is he sitting here, and where is Danny?

In the next second, Danny appears. Shows up at a table across the room, and he's still wearing it. The thing he thought he saw Danny wearing earlier. A small, short, black waiter-type apron tied around his hips of all things.

What in the hell?

Danny's talking to the people at the table, a foursome of three women and a man, who then all stare after him as Danny walks away. Stare at his ass, actually, and then they're nodding and laughing at something the man says, and a sharp pang of what feels like a possessive sort of…of…ridiculousness shoots through him which just makes him, god, he doesn't even know what.

Mrs. Yukimoto brings him a menu, glancing over to where he's staring. "Ah, see? My Danny-chan is good for business. I tol' you." She laughs and sends him a wink. "Customers ask for him when he's here. He's good for business." Takes up the menu and says, "I'm going to bring you my Huli-huli chicken. Daniel-san loves it."

He watches her walk away and then sits there staring down at his tea. Confused.

"It is you."

"Danny?"

Danny's standing next to the booth, looking down at him. "How's the leg?"

"Uh, good. It's good. Danny—"

"Good," Danny says then shifts his stance, still looking down and points at him with the pen. "Hope you're not getting malasada all over my booth."

"What?"

A laugh. "From your butt. From earlier. Looks like you'd sat on a—"

"Malasada, right." Steve shifts in his seat. What is happening here? "No, I brushed that off before."

"Before?"

"Before the hospital. Danny, what? What is all this? What are you—" looks around and for whatever reason, feels the need to lower his voice to a hushed tone. "What are you doing?"

"What am I doing?" Danny pulls a pad from a pocket on his apron and points that pen at him again. "Taking your order. I recommend the mahi-mahi burger. You'll like it. It's a crazy mix of stuff."

Steve is pretty sure his head is going to explode. "I'm not here for food!"

"Then why are you taking up valuable table space?"

"Danny!" He's not sure what's going on here. This is ridiculous and he can hear his own rising crescendo of tone that is totally not unexpected given the current 'Twilight Zone' episode he's suddenly been thrust into.

Danny slides into the seat opposite. "Okay, take it down a notch. You're bellowing." Takes a deep drink of water from Steve's glass. "I'm working, that's what's going on here."

Steve's trying very hard not to yell, but this is insane. Isn't it? Isn't it? "Working? As a…a…"

"I think the word you're looking for is waiter." Danny sits back. "So, yeah. But you know, not all the time. Just sometimes."

He's having palpitations. Really. Right here, right now, his heart is hammering in his chest because none—none—of anything is making any sense. This isn't just off-kilter, it's off the rails. "What do you mean? For how long?"

Danny glances at his watch. "Oh, 'til about two or so. Maybe two-thirty, depends on the lunch stragglers."

"That's not what I mean!" This is crazy, what is going on? "Danny, I don't even—what are you doing?"

"Um," Danny starts, "I just told you. I swear, you never pay attention."

"What? Danny, geeze, I—" Stops to take a breath to sort out the soup of confusion that is his brain at the moment. He's never felt so lost and has a feeling that is plainly evident given the rush of crazy emotions spinning through him. "Okay. Lemme see if I can explain the conundrum I'm trying to sort through here. This morning I woke up. Went to get malasadas for _you_ —"

"You were getting malasadas for me? That's so nice of you and—wait," Danny says and then laughs loudly. "Ah, that explains the one you had squashed all over your butt. So basically, you sat on _my_ malasada."

"Yeah, no. and shut up, that's not important." Starts ticking what is important off each finger. "I get malasadas and am heading back to my truck when I hear gunfire. I get shot, wait for my team to show up—my partner—and then find out you're not at work because you are, instead, waiting tables at…at…

"Mama-san's."

"What?"

" _Mama-san's Place_ ", that's the name of the—"'

"Okay, Danny? Really don't care. You're here. You're here working as a waiter. Why are you working as a waiter?"

Danny's just staring at him then sighs and sits back a bit. "Simple. Mrs. Yukimoto needs help sometimes. Her youngest just left for college and so isn't around to pitch in. She asked, I said okay."

"But—why?" He sounds whiny. Why is he sounding whiny?

Danny's giving him that squinty-eye look. Not one of his favorite looks, no. That look usually precedes Danny telling him how much of a Neanderthal animal he is.

"Why? Were you not just listening to me? I just told you why. She needed help. Needs help." Danny pauses just looking at him, and Steve doesn't know what to say.

"I…I don't know what to say."

"How about something along the lines of, 'I'll have the soup' or something? It is lunchtime and I'm working."

Soup? "How long? How long have you been moonlighting?"

"Oh, I'm not moonlighting, Steven. That would imply I'm working at night. This is usually a breakfast or lunch gig. Once in a blue moon I do dinner service. Usually Wednesday nights. You should come, she does a great huli—"

"Huli chicken So I've heard." None of this is making sense. It's some strange parallel universe. "I can give you a raise. You just had to ask, Danno."

"Money? You think I'm here for the money?" Danny laughs. "I may be a good waiter and yeah, I make some good tips and all, but I'm not here because of money." He sits back against the booth's back again. "But what the hell, I'll take that raise, thanks."

"If it's not money, then what are you—"

Cut off by a man's voice yelling toward them. "Excuse me, if it's not too much trouble, waiter? We're ready to order?"

Danny sends Steve a look. "See? You're screwing up my service." He pops up out of the booth and smiles back at the guy. "Be right there." Turns to Steve. "Gotta go. I'll put your soup in."

"I don’t want any soup, I want—" but Danny's gone, off and heading toward the table with the somewhat surly customer who then offers a huge smile as Danny approaches.

What the hell is going on? Steve doesn't know what to think. Danny's waiting tables. There has to be more to it than the obvious.

Minutes later and he's trying to decide whether or not he should leave or what, fingers rubbing over his eyes because he's getting a headache, that mild throbbing kind that can set in for hours. Why is Danny doing this? What the _hell_ is going on!

There's a soft clank and he opens his eyes to find a steaming bowl of soup. Saimin soup, and Danny's standing over him again.

"I had 'em put shrimp in it. That broth'll help the headache."

"I don't have a headache."

Looks up to find Danny smiling down at him. "You do know I have memorized an entire catalog of your varying degrees of pained expressions, right? Eat the soup, it'll help."

"I don't want soup!"

"Then why did you order it?"

"I didn't order it, I just don't want—"

"Wait, is it the shrimp? I could've sworn you—"

"No, Danny, that's not—" realizes his voice has risen again and people are now looking at them, so he pulls it down to a lower decibel hiss. "That's not what I'm asking. Why are you here?"

"I told you and stop pointing that spoon at me. Why are you having a hard time with this, it's not hard."

"Danny—"

"Eat the soup."

"I don't want soup!"

Mrs. Yukimoto appears then, her tiny hand wrapping around the back of Danny's neck. "Everything okay here, Danny-chan?" She then looks to him, eyes narrowed. "You don't like my soup?"

"No, I—it's great. It's very good." He can hear himself spluttering. This is insane.

She then sends him a smile. "You eat all that soup, McGarrett-san. Make your headache better, then go rest."

"I don't have a headache, I have—"

"I can see it all over your face," she says then nods toward Danny who's back to working one of his tables. "I'll send some more home with Daniel-san to give you." Pauses, then adds, "He's a good worker, my Danny-chan. A good man. You be nice to him."

"Nice? I'm always nice."

"He likes you very much, McGarrett-san. You know that? Likes you _very_ much." 

She's leaning in close now, practically in his face and whispering to him like she's got the secret to the whole conspiracy and he's not even sure what that conspiracy is except it feels like he's in the center of it while Danny's in far left field taking soup orders.

"I know this, you know. And you know what else I know, McGarrett-san? I think you like my Danny-chan very much, too. That's right."

With that and a great, big, ridiculous slow-motion wink and grin, she's gone.

He's not sure what just happened and he just lived it.

**

Danny's busy, glancing over to him from time to time as he runs from table to kitchen, but the place is getting more and more crowded and Steve figures he might as well leave. He can talk to Danny later; there is no way he's going to get this shit sorted out in his head. Not here.

He grabs the to-go box Mrs. Yukimoto presented after saying in no way would she accept any money for the lunch, and then tries to decide whether or not he should leave a tip. 

Throws a fifty down anyway. It's way too much and it feels weird given it's Danny but would feel weirder not leaving anything at all and figures Danny can always hand it to Mrs. Yukimoto if he doesn't want to keep it.

Now, he's home, it's after five, his head aches enormously as does his leg, and he's bypassed the painkillers in favor of downing the better part of a six-pack, which is in no way helping anything—and all he can think about is Danny standing there in that short little black apron.

What the ever fuckin' hell is happening anymore? Has he really not paid any attention to what Danny's been up to all this time? Clearly, but…he doesn't know what to think about anything anymore.

Five years ago he would've said that eventually, down the road and all, he and Catherine would have been married with a couple of kids running around. 

Four years ago he met Danny, a man who has slowly and systematically helped to knock off kilter pretty much every damn aspect of his life.

Three years ago he started to think that this life in Hawaii might actually work out.

Two years ago his world started turning upside down with the resurrection of his mother who is even more an enigma alive than she was dead and buried.

A year ago he realized that over the years, he'd slowly fallen in love with Danny, and then did everything he could to prevent feeling that way until he just couldn’t take being with Catherine any more because it felt like he was cheating. So he told everyone that Catherine had broken it off with him by wanting to stay behind in Afghanistan, and he's been, Christ, what? What has he been? Pining for Danny ever since?

God, maybe.

Deep down, this thing he's had for Danny has festered, and there are days it's all he can do keep it all buried away. It's getting worse as the years pass, too. 

The 'I love you' declarations he and Danny now throw at one another aren't helping, either. Mainly because his subconscious pretty much means them wholeheartedly in the love, lust, be with me forever way, and he can barely admit these feelings to himself without blowing his brains out from the insanity of it all…and Danny, Danny sends his out as brotherly affection.

Goddamn, things were so much easier back when he was a SEAL and just getting shot at while serving in the most dangerous of places. 

God, how is his life this fucked.

**

A noise wakes him, and he's up like a shot. Or, sort of…

"Jesus, Steve. How much have you had?"

What?

"Put the bottle down, McGarrett. It's not a gun, you're not going to shoot me, and you're spilling beer everywhere."

"Danny?"

"Wow. Sharp as ever. Okay, here. Let me help you up."

Danny pulls him forward to sit and oh, yeah. He's in his house, on his couch. Maybe he had a few too many beers. His head is spinning, and… "Oh, god. What's that smell?" There's fried food somewhere. It's making him ill. His stomach is rolling. "Bad. Bad smell," he chokes out.

"Sorry," Danny says with a half-laugh. "Didn't take a shower. I kind of rushed over here. Was in a hurry, you know."

His eyes are closed and he's slowly massaging his temples. It's not helping. "What do I know?"

"That I was worried. I was worried about you."

"You?"

"No, you. I was worried about you. Steve."

Steve smiles at that. He can't help it, it's always made him smile to know Danny worries for him. Then again, what doesn't Danny worry about?

Takes a deep breath to help clear his head and opens his eyes. "I meant that you smell like french fries, by the way. Not that you really smell bad."

Danny laughs. "Yeah, okay, I'll take your word I don’t smell bad. Sometimes I smell like fries after a shift, stays that way until I shower."

He shifts to sit up higher against his sofa, head leaning back and looking at Danny now sitting next to him, eyes looking very blue. "What are you doing, Danny?"

"What am I—what do you mean, doing?" Now Danny's sliding away from him a bit and Steve so doesn’t want that. "I'm not doing anything unless you mean my checking up on a wounded friend because I was worried. How's the leg?"

"Fine, and no, I mean—I don't get it. What are you doing with…you know, that." Nods towards the apron Danny is still wearing.

"Shit, I was supposed to leave this at work." He's fingering the edge of the apron, then looks up. "Besides, you know I told you this already."

"No, I don't know, Danny. Apparently I don't know much. I keep finding things out about you that I didn't know."

"Oh, really?"

Okay, this is not going so well, he can tell by Danny's now fairly biting tone. Thing is, Steve can't seem to shut up. He wants—needs—answers. "You don't tell me things, Danny." Wow, that sounded a whole helluva lot more pathetic out loud, even to him.

Totally doesn't deserve that snide bark of laughter from Danny, though. " _I_ don't tell you things, Steve? I don't. Me as in me."

Funny how fast indignation and irritation can color his own words without even trying. "Yeah. Yes, you. You don't. You—you and your claustrophobia issue, for example. Never told me that."

"Steve."

"No. There's that, and well, now this, Danny. This—whatever this is that you're doing. This is pretty fucking big."

Danny's shaking his head at him. "Waiting tables. Waiting tables is big. To you, this is a big thing."

"Exactly."

They share a long look that Steve can't quite decipher, but he's feeling pretty prickly right now.

Danny must be feeling prickly, too, because he suddenly shifts even further away, back now resting on the opposite end of the couch. The hands come into motion, and Steve knows he's in for a long…god, he hopes not diatribe. His head won't take it.

Danny rubs his hands over his face. "Look. We've had—the team, I mean—enough people around to cover things and when Mrs. Yukimoto, my neighbor, was saying she needed help a couple of nights, well, back in Jersey I'd worked at my Uncle Sal's pizza place as a kid, so it wasn’t hard to just jump in and help and I wasn't doing anything else in the evenings, anyway, so…"

Danny just stops mid-ramble, words trailing away, and Steve's pretty sure his brain is going to implode. He leans forward and drops his head into his hands. "So what, Danny?"

"So, it just seemed like a good way to distract myself when Grace wasn't around," Danny says. "Or you. That's all."

Steve closes his eyes. "Me."

"Yeah, you. Here." A hand nudges his shoulder. Danny's holding a plastic container.

"What's this?"

"Soup."

Steve takes a deep breath. "I don’t want soup, Danny. I just want…" Looks at Danny and his heart flips. "Shit, I want…."

"Tell me."

"Gah," he grunts and waves Danny off. He's not sure he can say it. Ever. What he wants has never been easy for him to express. Nobody's ever really asked what he wants and how did this get turned around from Danny waiting tables, anyway?

Which he doesn't actually say out loud, and then Danny practically snarls out, "Right. Great. Grunt and tell me nothing." Yeah, Danny sounds pretty angry now. "You're bitching that you don't know me. All I'm doing is waiting tables to help out a friend, no big secret, yet that's enough for you to tell me you don't know me."

Danny stands up then, towering—yes, from where Steve is sitting, Danny's now towering over him. He assumes a stabbing finger will be coming next.

"But you, Steve. You. Let's talk about you. Exactly how much about _you_ don’t I know, huh?"

"Danny. You know I can't talk about most of that, and—"

"Right. Classified. I know that. But _that_ is not the _how much_ I'm talking about."

"What?"

"Jesus, Steve. All I want is to know what you want." Danny sits again, somehow looking and sounding deflated. It's not normal. 

"You okay?" Now Danny has his eyes closed. "You look tired."

"I'm fine and I am tired, been working all day." Danny opens one eye to look at him. "And don't deflect, Steven. I asked you a question."

"I don’t want anything," he says and wants to kick himself the minute he says it out loud because he's pretty sure he knows what Danny wants from him. Or hopes he knows. Or maybe not and just when did he turn into a middle-schooler?

Gets a glare from Danny, then, "Honest to god, for a Naval Academy grad and then some, you're pretty damn dense at times."

"Danny, I—""

"Okay, just. Stop." Danny lets go a long sigh, and Steve's heart is pounding so heavily he isn't at all sure he's not on the verge of a heart attack.

He's close then, Danny, leaning forward and just staring at him, right into his eyes.

"Steve. Nine months ago I told Mrs. Yukimoto that I would help her out at her restaurant a few nights when she needed it. Then, after you added Catherine to the team, I figured I could just keep on helping her out from time to time. We had enough people to cover things, and you and I, well, you know."

"No, Danny. I don’t know."

"Well, I guess you never noticed me not being around, so it didn't seem like much of a problem to keep on helping at the time. Or now."

What? "I noticed you weren't around much, Danny. I just—figured you, I don't know. Had things to do or…" It even sounds awful and uncaring to his own ears. "I guess maybe I've been distracted." Turns to Danny. "It's been a hard few months for me, too, Danny."

He can see the fire in Danny's eyes cool a bit, and Danny nods, words soft. "I'm so very well aware, Steve. I was with you for those times, you know that."

"Yeah." Shakes his head then because no, he doesn't want to travel down that road. Got a lot of what happened to him out of his system in group therapy, and he's mostly okay with it now, but definitely doesn't want to bring it up. "I didn't mean all _that_ specifically, anyway. I meant distraction like—"

"Catherine."

"No, not Catherine."

The fire's back, Danny's expression is half lit with it. "Really, Steve?"

Where is this all going? His headache is full force now; the beer was definitely a mistake. "What is it you want, anyway? You leave me to take a second job."

"Are you serious? I told you it's not a second job and, goddamn, I'm not leaving you or the team. I told you it's just once in a while and—Fuck it. You just do not ever listen to me, do you?"

"Listen? I listen, Danny. I listen all the time. You talk and talk and say pretty much nothing about anything and all that time, I'm listening." Turns toward Danny, their eyes locked. "And then...you take another job, for shit's sake, and don't even tell me why."

"I told you, I told you everything. What else do you want to hear?"

He doesn't know. Everything. "Everything," he says quietly.

Danny stares at him a long beat. Measuring, Steve can tell. Then: "Catherine," Danny mumbles, shaking his head.

"What about Catherine, Danny?" Turns and plants both feet flat on the ground because this is getting way more serious and convoluted, which is doing nothing for his headache or the ache in his calf, and yet he doesn't care because suddenly this—this conversation—has become way more important than anything else he can imagine. "Danny?"

Danny laughs, but it's not a light sound. "You said Catherine wasn't your girlfriend. You told me that several times."

"Danny, I—"

A raised hand stops him, and then Danny goes on. "Next thing I know she's on the team. No asking us. No asking me, your partner. Just bam, there she is, badge on hip, and then is living here with you—"

"She wasn't living here."

"Okay, practically living here with you without actually living here, then."

"You practically live here, Danny. Does that make you my—" He stops short, can't say it. 

Danny looks at him sharply. "Tell me what you want, Steve. Can you do that? Because there was a time I thought—we all thought—you wanted Catherine. And there was a time when I thought—I was sure that you and I were headed, that you wanted—"

"Danny." God, that was not his voice that sounded so very pathetically plaintive.

"Just, please, Steve. No bullshit anymore. Tell me what you want."

It's hard to keep his eyes on Danny's, but he does. Maybe it's time. Maybe he can let go and give in to what—who—he wants. And maybe it will hurt like hell to let it all come out, but he's tired and getting older and there's been so much shit in his life and the one thing—the only thing—that's ever been right is sitting directly across from him.

So he thinks of what he wants. What he really wants, and it's not hard. Lets Danny see everything he's held back, hoping Danny can read in his eyes as much as he's hoping he's reading in Danny's.

In a heartbeat, between one blink of the eye and the next, not one word yet uttered, his lap is full of Danny. His mouth full of Danny's tongue and oh, god, they're kissing. They're kissing and laughing and god, yes. This. This is what he wants.

Danny's hand wraps the back of his head and they're kissing again. Deeper. Licking. He can't get enough. Danny's tongue trails along his neck, fingers are running over his chest, hands spreading over his body. He's never felt so charged.

"Danny, Danny," he whispers, the word dancing across his lips in a way it's never done before. Steve laughs then, and god, it feels good to laugh. Nods against Danny's cheek as he buries his nose there. It's rough and prickly against his skin. "Stay here, tonight. With me," he says, words suddenly rising into the dark of the night as he whispers into the curve of Danny's ear. 

"Really?" Danny sits up, pushing back a bit. "Wow. Thirty seconds into being as close as we've ever been--"

"Closer. A lot closer," Steve interrupts easily and already wanting more. Wraps his hands around Danny's ass and oh, god, he's wanted to do this for…ever.

"A lot closer than we've ever been and you're, what? What are you doing with the _stay here_. What is that? Are you propositioning me?"

He can't be serious. "Propositioning you?"

There's the Williams smirk he knows and adores and sometimes gets pissed off about. Danny shuffles around, hands pulling at something and then a piece of paper floats down between them. Fifty-dollar bill.

Danny nods toward the fifty, sounding serious. "Looked like a proposition to me this afternoon, Commander." But he's laughing.

Steve picks up the fifty. "Is this why you came over tonight?"

There's an actual twinkle in Danny's eyes. "Not every day I get a tip like this, you know. Figured I should check it out, see who the big spender is and find out what he wants."

"What I want," Steve repeats softly.

"Yeah, Steve. What you want."

"I want," he says, "You to stay." He's watching his hands slowly unbutton Danny's shirt, almost detached from it all because it's hard to believe that this is happening.

"All-nighter. Already." Danny's kind of gazing back at him with a little bit of wonder, too

He grins. "Well, you know. You're here all the time, Danny. Practically live here, anyway, without actually living here."

A pause, Danny's clearly thinking about those same words Danny had thrown at him about Catherine. "So that makes me, what, not your boyfriend?"

Steve smiles, then laughs.

And Danny tilts his head and smiles back. "Whatever. Works for me." He slides his body down, hands running lower and lower over Steve's body, over his clothing and Steve is instantly hard.

"God, Danny, you give me—" He stops, can't seem to let those words go free, but damn, this feels so very right after he's lived so much wrong for so long.

Danny's fingers are teasing over him. Stroking through his clothing and Steve can feel them like a quick burn.

"You know what you give me, Steven? You give me anxiety." Danny says, still laughing. "You give me headaches. You give me heart palpitations. You give me near-coronaries."

"I'll give you another fifty if you wear nothing but that half-apron for me tonight."

There's a long beat, then Danny bursts out a laugh, nodding. "Kinky, good to know."

Steve pulls him back up, thrusts his tongue into Danny's mouth and for a few minutes, they're both tense and strung tight, Danny rigidly braced above him and he's rising up to meet him with that same intensity…

Which then softens as their mouths work together, tongues shifting and lapping and kissing, and Danny then sinks heavily down onto him, bodies now pressed together and warm and slotted perfectly.

Steve feels drunk from it all. "Danny," he breathes again.

Danny's propped above him, their faces inches apart. "Say that again," he says, and Steve does. Whispers, "Danny," into his mouth again and again. 

Danny's kissing him everywhere. "Tell me what you want, Steven. Tell me."

"You," he says finally and it feels so right, so very right, saying it out loud. "You, I want you." Pulls away, catching Danny's eyes and they're both smiling.

His head is spinning with the thrill of it all, with Danny sprawled over him on his sofa in his living room, with the thought that he can actually have what he wants. He's been thrown off-kilter by this man in the best of ways.

"You have me," Danny tells him. "You've always had me, you know, Steven. You were just never paying attention."

"Until now," Steve replies and pulls Danny back down to him, mouths locking once again. "I'm paying attention now, Danny."

End.


End file.
